


Cliché, Potter

by springair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Bisexual Harry Potter, Draco’s isn’t, Drarry, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Drunkeness, First Kiss, Fluff, Flustered!Draco, Getting Together, Harry’s is implied, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, New Years, Romance, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, Unspeakable Hermione Granger, but i’m bisexual and i say they’re bisexual, romione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28366296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springair/pseuds/springair
Summary: Draco and Harry meet at a New Year’s Eve party and things become decidedly abnormal.orThe one where Harry’s drank far too much firewhiskey, Malfoy’s trousers are far too tight, and Ron and Hermione’s New Year’s Eve party is far too crowded.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 194





	Cliché, Potter

**Author's Note:**

> I got a burst of inspiration after Christmas, and wanted to write something about Draco and Harry for the New Year. This is the result! Please do enjoy.

Harry turns up fashionably late to Ron and Hermione’s New Year’s Eve party.

“Harry!” Hermione shouts over the music as she opens the door, kissing him on the cheek and wrapping him in a tight hug. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming or not, Ron said that you were called out.”

“And miss the first party in your new house?” Harry smiles and pulls out an old bottle of Ogden’s he found in a cupboard back at Grimmauld — once he dusted it off it was completely fine, and screw what Walburga Black’s portrait said of it, the nasty hag. He doesn’t really know anything about the fancy wines that Hermione likes to drink, and Harry knows Ron likes a good firewhiskey as much as he does himself, so at least someone will drink it.

Hermione takes the bottle from him and pouts. “You shouldn’t have, Harry. Oh, come in, gosh, it’s _freezing_ out there.” Clearly she’s already a bit tipsy, as she’s even more affectionate than normal, patting him on the cheek as she grabs his arm. “So, work?”

Harry rubs a hand over his face and steps into the Granger-Weasley house. “Classic ex-death eater activity, you know what they’re like. Nothing more than senile old men stuck in the past and speaking like it.”

Hermione nods severely and it’s almost funny how she still gives Harry her full attention when her cheeks are flushed and eyes unfocused. “Arseholes, all of them.” She gives Harry’s arm a squeeze and holds up the bottle of firewhiskey. “Drink?”

She’s already leading him through a throng of people — it seems like half of the Auror department have been invited, the majority of the Weasley family, and some other people Harry doesn’t recognise that must be Hermione’s Unspeakable coworkers — to the kitchen as he says, “Obviously. I need it after some of the shite I saw tonight, believe me.”

“Mhm, I can imagine.” She takes out a glass and opens the firewhiskey, pouring him a far too generous measure. But hey, what’s the point of New Years when you’re single if not to get shitfaced by drowning your sorrows in alcohol? “At work, we always–” Hermione gasps.

Ron snorts, coming up behind her and hugging her waist. “Hermione Granger? Is that you I hear spilling secrets from the Department of Mysteries?”

Hermione looks scandalised as she passes Harry his drink. “Of course not.” She peers down into her own glass of red wine, like giving it a disapproving look would make her sober up. “I was only discussing the intricacies of Auror fieldwork and the apper– _apprehension_ of criminals.”

“That so?” Ron slurs, pecking her on the cheek. “Hiya, Harry.”

“Hi, mate,” he replies, but Ron’s already moved on to kissing her neck. Harry downs his drink and turns away from the, uh, _affectionate_ couple ~~who make him feel like a loner more and more each day~~ to pay more attention to their interior design choices in the kitchen-diner, no doubt Hermione’s work. The walls are painted a rich burgundy, which gives the room a cosy feel when combined with the brick fire roaring against the feature wall at the far end, next to the oak wood dining table that adds a bit of brightness to the room. It’s completely lovely and yet makes Harry feel somewhat lonely, like his status as a third wheel is more prominent now that his friends have a sweet little house to call their home.

It’s not that he isn’t happy that Ron and Hermione are together, far from it, it was such a great relief when they _finally_ admitted their feelings for each other after dancing about at Hogwarts for so long, but their little trio instantly went from Harry and Ron and Hermione to Harry, and Ron and Hermione. And after Harry didn’t get back together with Ginny after the War... well. Harry buried himself in work, his friends bought a house together, Ginny moved on with Luna, and he’s left having pub nights with Auror colleagues who try to flirt with him, but it’s just so not _right_. Ron joins them occasionally when he isn’t spending time with Hermione, but even then it’s just not the same. He misses it, sometimes, the way they used to be, though he’ll never tell them that.

“Right,” Harry says awkwardly, because he still is slightly uncomfortable at parties, and thinks he always will be, no matter how many Auror functions he has to attend. Placing the glass down on the counter, his farewell gesture goes unnoticed. “I’ll leave you to... yeah.”

In usual drunk couple fashion, the pair ignore him. Harry takes the whole bottle of Ogden’s with him as he leaves the kitchen.

Slowly, Harry works through the bottle as he makes his way through the house. There’s pictures _everywhere,_ shots of Weasleys and Grangers and friends and holidays, hanging on walls and sitting on shelves and cabinets. All the furniture is deliberately picked in a way that makes it look almost random, but fits together like pieces of a jigsaw. It’s nice, and Harry can practically see Ron and Hermione cuddled up on the sofa in front of the specially-enhanced TV, watching Muggle movies. He’d been invited over to have a Christmas movie marathon on Christmas Eve before the meal at the Burrow the next day; Harry ended up sprawled on the recliner feigning sleep whilst Ron and Hermione laughed and shushed and whispered ‘Harry’s sleeping!’ at each other. Bill Weasley sits on the sofa now, Fleur Delacour-turned-Weasley cuddling up to him and holding her baby bump protectively, while she sips at orange juice, Bill drinking his own glass in solidarity.

That’d be nice, Harry broods, having a spouse. Or a baby. Maybe both. No? Just one, then. Anything.

Christ, Harry’s lonely.

He sighs and keeps drinking.

Harry finds a seat in the corner in the upstairs living room, where the music is quieter, after being stopped by about, say, _twenty different bloody people_ who all had something to say about his ‘gracious work as an Auror’ or his ‘gallant contributions to wizard-kind’. It’s not like he doesn’t appreciate it, but sometimes he’d like to be _Just Harry_ again, a normal guy who’s just a normal Auror who goes to his normal friends’ _completely_ normal parties.

“Hello, Just Harry,” a whimsical voice says from beside him. Harry jumps, and turns to see the face of Luna Lovegood smiling at him.

“Luna! Merlin, I–” he coughs, the firewhiskey he only just swallowed burning his throat. “I didn’t see you there, er. Hello.”

“Have I disturbed you? You were ranting about normal things. Though I don’t know if I’d be much help with that. I often find normal to be incredibly boring. Don’t you?”

 _Shit_ , he said all that out _loud?_ The bottle in his hand is a quarter empty. Oh. Okay, that makes more sense.

“Er, they– it can be, I suppose,” he replies, and realises his voice sounds a little like Ron’s. He clears his throat again. “But, isn’t normal, just, nice sometimes? Like, you know what to expect. Because it’s normal and safe and all, you know, _samey_. It isn’t different. Like coming home after work. Or listening to a song you’ve heard a hundred times before. And you know it won’t be different because that’s how it’s always been, and– and always will be. It’s not meant to not be boring, but it’s good and I– god, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore, Luna.”

Luna seems to think for a while, toying with a lock of her blonde hair that is twisted with miniature, er, snakes? Twigs? Peppers? Something Luna like that.

“It all depends on what you think of as normal. For me, normal is what most people are like. I think you’ll find that under that definition I’m not very normal, but you might say that _this_ is _my_ normal. And that brings it all back around to the question: what _is_ normal?” She cocks her head, somewhat like a puppy, staring off into the distance. 

Harry is far too drunk to understand that, so he just says, “Yeah. Normal.”

“Yeah,” Luna parrots. “It’s nice to have some abnormality in your life, I think.”

“Yeah,” Harry says again.

They sit in silence for a little while; Harry gazing at his firewhiskey and contemplating finishing it off and throwing himself off of the balcony upstairs, and Luna smiling next to him, her stare burning into his cheek.

“You look dazed, Harry. I think your wrackspurts have come back.”

“Not the nargles?” he jokes.

“No,” Luna says seriously. “I have my cork necklace on, and nargles hate corks.” And, true enough, she’s wearing the same odd necklace she wore all the time in school. Harry reaches out an hand absently to toy with a dangling cork. “It must be your wrackspurts. I haven’t discovered a way of repelling them, yet. But I’ll be sure to let you know first, if I do.”

“Thanks, Luna. Appreciate it,” he slurs. God, when the hell did he drink _more_?

“Fresh cold air seems to help, though. I’d try going outside, see if that makes you feel better.”

To drunk Harry, that sounds like an excellent idea. One, for the prospect of a balcony ready for him to fling himself off of; and two, for fresh air to clear his head, which is spinning now that he’s stood up.

“Good idea,” he tells her, stumbling slightly. “Stay– say hi to Ginny for me.”

“Will do,” Luna says cheerfully, before standing up and floating back into the crowd. Before Harry knows it, she’s gone.

Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in. Then goes outside.

The coolness of the night hits him like a hex to the face, and Harry takes another moment to steady himself on the door. The balcony is tiny, and there’s only one other person on it, who, despite still having his glasses securely on his face (he checked), Harry can’t for the life of him make out who it is with their back to him. Ah, well. Someone has probably already taken a picture of him that will no doubt be on the front page of _The Prophet_ tomorrow, with some stupid caption about a drinking problem he doesn’t have.

Person ignored, Harry sits down on the small loveseat positioned next to a plant and tries not to think about what the previous users of it might have been doing. Looking up at the night sky, he muses that the stars look very pretty tonight. Maybe if he’d paid more attention to Astronomy at Hogwarts, he’d know more about them, but he knows the ones that count, and that’s what matters most to him. Sirius shines brightly and Harry smiles. He always hunts that star out when he’s feeling down or missing his godfather.

“Potter?” A familiar voice asks, and Harry’s head snaps to focus on the other person on the balcony, who he can now make out clear as day.

Draco _sodding_ Malfoy.

“Er, Malfoy?”

Malfoy is staring at him oddly and Harry doesn’t know what to make of that. So, Harry stares back. And, shit, Malfoy looks– well, he looks _good;_ he’s wearing a tight-fitting dark-grey turtleneck jumper with even _tighter_ tailored black trousers. His hair is cut shorter than it was at Hogwarts, parted at the side, with a wave of it curling over his forehead. All of a sudden Harry feels rather stupid about the pair of blue jeans and ash jumper he chose to wear tonight, and that he didn’t even attempt to tame his birds nest of hair before coming out.

“...Potter, everything alright?” Malfoy says, breaking Harry out of his trance.

“Hot? I mean– what? What are you doing here?”

Malfoy smirks and holds up a glass of wine. “The same as you, I imagine.”

“No, like, _here,_ here.” Malfoy raises a slender eyebrow. “At Ron and Hermione’s!” Harry huffs.

“I was invited,” Malfoy deadpans, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Almost as if he can’t help it, Harry blurts, “Why were _you_ invited?”

Malfoy pauses mid-drink. “What, am I not good enough for you?” he sneers, and Harry is immediately transported back to his teenage years.

“No! Malfoy–”

“The _Chosen One_ will only talk with the filthy Death Eater scum when in public for everyone to see, is that it?” Malfoy makes to leave, so Harry stands up to block him. “Move, Potter,” he snaps.

“Christ, Malfoy, no, I only meant why as in _how_ do you know Ron and Hermione? And don’t say Hogwarts.”

Malfoy sniffs, as if that was exactly what he was going to say. “Granger and I work together.”

Harry is stunned into silence.

“Problem?” Malfoy asks.

“You’re an Unspeakable?” Harry questions, bewildered.

“That is correct, Potter. Well done.”

“Oh.” Now that he thinks about it, it isn’t that odd at all. Malfoy was always good at school, and he’s pretty sure he’s seen him around the Ministry before, and they’ve talked civilly a few times when at functions, where Malfoy always wears beautiful robes that compliment his– Hermione might have even spoken about him at one point, too. ‘Unspeakable Malfoy–“

“Oh?”

“That makes sense.” Harry takes a swig of what’s left of the firewhiskey. Malfoy eyes the half empty bottle, then Harry’s face.

“Makes sense?” 

Harry nods. “I see you as an Unspeakable.”

“Right.” Malfoy looks kind of confused, but less like he’s going to storm off. “You’ve not drank all of that yourself, have you?”

“Why? Want some?” Harry asks, dangling the bottle in front of his face.

Malfoy opens his mouth as if he’s going to say no, but then, “Sure, Potter.”

Malfoy accepts the firewhiskey, placing his now empty wine glass onto a side table, and takes a large drink from the bottle. Harry follows the bob of Malfoy’s Adam’s apple with his eyes as he drinks. There’s about an inch difference between them in height, Harry notes.

“So,” Malfoy says, moving across to the bannister again after placing the bottle down. Harry’s eyes move southward, and, _holy shit_ , Malfoy’s trousers are _far_ too tight on him. Malfoy leans over the edge so Harry has a full view of his — very fit — arse. His mouth goes a little dry. “Why are you out here and not inside with the Weaselette?”

“Er.” He coughs, and his mouth catches up with his brain. “Don’t call her that.”

“Fine. Girl-Weasley.”

Good enough. “We’re not together anymore,” Harry says, coming to lean on his side next to Malfoy.

Malfoy furrows his brow. “You’re not?”

Harry shakes his head. “She’s with Luna now. I’m surprised you don’t know, to be honest. It was plastered all over _The Prophet_ for _weeks_.”

“Ah,” Malfoy says, and sounds sort of... relieved? “I don’t read _The Prophet_. I’ve become rather disenchanted with it, after some of the articles it’s printed about me and my family.”

Harry’s seen them before, littered in the Ministry, harping on about ‘The Young Death Eater...’ and all the _absolutely nefarious_ things he’s doing when reporters (Rita Skeeter) sight him in the Ministry. He never reads any of them, he learned a long time ago that all the articles are a waste of his time. Besides one, that is, printed at the start of the year about a called-off engagement which caught his eye.

“Same here. Though, most of that was your fault,” Harry teases. Malfoy’s cheeks go pink and Harry knocks his shoulder against Malfoy’s. “I’m kidding, I’m over that now.”

“I–” Malfoy starts. “I really am sorry, Potter. For everything. I didn’t just say it for the trial.”

“I know,” Harry tells him, and he means it.

They stand there in silence for a moment, Malfoy staring out at nothing and Harry taking another look at the night sky. Their hands are so close together on the bannister that they’re nearly touching.

“Thank you,” Malfoy mumbles, avoiding Harry’s eye.

“For what?”

“For everything, again. For accepting my apologies. For saving my life. For– for keeping me out of Azkaban.” 

“Of course,” he replies, without thinking.

“Of course,” Malfoy repeats, somewhat stiffly. “That’s what the Saviour does, isn’t it?”

Harry winces. “Please don’t call me that.”

“What, the _Saviour_?”

“Seriously, it sounds stupid.” Harry shifts on his feet. “And it doesn’t fit me, anyways.”

“Novelty worn off?”

“Ha. Ha. And no, I don’t _just do_ things like that, people seem to expect it from me all the time because they call me that, and– it’s almost _annoying_.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling Malfoy about this, but he’s here and he’s listening without looking like he’s going to say anything snide, so he carries on. “Everyone says I was so merciful at the trials, and that if they were in my shoes they ‘wouldn’t have been so generous’, but all I did was tell the truth! That’s all I’ve _ever_ done. People argue that you got off lightly, favouritism or something, that even though we tried to bite each other’s heads off at school, I felt sorry for you as a fellow classmate or some guff like that. But I believe what I said, Malfoy. That you’re not just your mark. It’s not like I helped any other Death Eaters–” he stops himself, before he says anything too honest about his motives. 

“Just me?” Malfoy’s looking at him weirdly again, and it’s as if he’s asking about something much more important than Harry’s post-war testimonies.

“Just you,” Harry says, meeting silver eyes with his own, because it’s true, Malfoy’s mum wasn’t ever really a Death Eater, so she doesn’t count, and Harry thinks it might ruin this moment if he brings up Narcissa, and he’s not ashamed to say he wants to find out what happens next. “I think you’re a good person, Malfoy.”

First, Malfoy looks shocked, but then he smiles, a curve that looks nice on his lips, one Harry doesn’t ever think he’s seen on him before. It doesn’t reach his eyes, but Harry thinks that he’d like to be the one to make Malfoy smile so much that his eyes crinkle and– Fuck. He’s getting ahead of himself.

“You do?” Harry realises his eyes are trained firmly on Malfoy’s lips.

“Yeah.” Harry edges his hand closer to Malfoy’s, so that the tips of their fingers are touching. Malfoy takes in a short breath.

“Potter...” Malfoy whispers. Then, as Harry boldly links their fingers together, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He squeezes his hand around Malfoy’s, who turns a delightful shade of pink. “And please, I’m just Harry.”

“I don’t know. Harry.” Malfoy’s voice is wobbly, and Harry doesn’t think it’s from the cold, but neither of them move away or retract their hands.

“I think you should smile more,” and, though he hasn’t been invited to say it, “Draco.”

The music of the party has gotten louder, and it’s then Harry notices that the rest of the talking crowd have spilled out into the back garden. George and Angelina are gathered around a group of fireworks, Bill and Fleur some distance away, Ginny and Luna are hovering next to one of the large trees, Neville and Hannah have their arms wrapped around each other, and Ron and Hermione have taken centre stage.

“Good evening everyone!” Hermione shouts over the noise, quieting down everyone’s conversations. “We hope you’ve all had a great night so far!”

The crowd cheers.

“Now, though, it’s the moment you’ve been waiting for,” Ron says dramatically. Harry snorts; he’s definitely been taking notes from George. “It’s only a minute until midnight, so find yourself a partner and get ready!”

“What’s Weasley talking about, Po– Harry?” Draco asks.

Harry tilts his head to the side. “You mean you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

This’ll be fun. “It must be a Muggle thing, then.”

“ _What_ is, Harry?” Draco groans. It’s the most adorable thing Harry’s ever heard.

“A New Year’s kiss, at midnight.” Harry knows he has a stupid grin on his face. “Muggles say it’s for luck, and if you do it with someone you like, you’ll have a good year. Together.”

Draco goes beet-red.

“ _10!_ ” The crowd shouts from below.

“You’re drunk.”

“ _9!”_

“So are you.”

“ _8!”_

“But–”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you sober, if it helps.”

“ _7!”_

Draco deliberates for a count, chewing on his lip.

“ _6!”_

Then, “Me too. Since Hogwarts.”

“ _5!”_

Harry laughs, “That long?”

“ _4!”_

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one who stalked me.”

“ _3!”_

“I know. Be my New Year’s kiss, Malfoy?”

“ _2!”_

“That sounds beyond cliché, Potter.”

“ _1!”_

Just as the fireworks go off, Harry cups Draco’s cheek with his free hand and pulls him down into a kiss. It’s awkward at first, and Harry uses too much teeth, but soon they melt into a rhythm that truly makes the magic of a New Year’s kiss feel as real as a shining bright _Lumos_. God, Draco is a _fantastic_ kisser; they should’ve been doing _this_ all the time at Hogwarts rather than fighting. It feels right, for once, kissing like this, rather than that almost regretful feeling Harry gets in the pit of his stomach when he makes out with people at Muggle clubs. It feels _right;_ he wants Draco in a way he hasn’t felt since kissing Ginny after winning the Quidditch cup in sixth year.Harry curves his other hand around Draco’s hip and draws him in closer so that their chests are pressed flush together. In return, Draco winds his arms around his waist and deepens the kiss.

Harry takes the opportunity to slide his hand around to Draco’s firm arse and give it a squeeze.

Draco yelps and pulls back ever so slightly — giving both of them room to breathe. “What was that for?”

“I couldn’t help it.” Harry brings his lips close to Draco’s ear, and whispers, “Your arse looks really good in those trousers.” He feathers kisses down Draco’s neck, then rests his head in the crook of it and lets his arms curl around Draco’s waist.

Draco snorts. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

“Next time,” Harry mumbles, somewhat giddily, into Draco’s neck. Harry’s still tipsy, and he wants to keep going, but god knows he doesn’t want Draco to think it’s because of alcohol, so the better part of him refrains from moving how his body wants to. And just to make sure, “I’m not doing this because of the firewhiskey.”

“No,” Draco says, squeezing Harry closer and resting his head on Harry’s. “Me neither.”

“Okay, good. Just wanted you to know.”

Harry’s head is spinning for a completely different reason, now. Draco sighs contently.

“...Have you really fancied me since Hogwarts?”

“ _Potter_.”

“Only asking.”

“Yes.” Harry’s laugh is muffled and Draco smacks him lightly on the arse. “If you tell anyone, Potter, especially Granger, I swear to Merlin–”

“Hermione?” Harry lifts his head. “Thought you’d be more worried about Ron knowing.”

“Well, I don’t work with Weasley on the daily. I just know that Granger will tease me endlessly about it. So...”

“I won’t. And it’s Harry.”

“Point stands.” Harry pecks Draco on the lips, smiling, and presses their foreheads together. “Harry.”

“Can I... Can I take you out sometime?”

Draco huffs. ”Well, it’d be rather stupid of me to say no now, wouldn’t it?”

Harry hums and begins to sway them side-to-side. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course that’s a yes, Harry, for Merlin’s sake,” Draco says, but smiles brightly. “Idiot,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Good. I’m glad,” Harry says, with that stupid grin on his face again. “Happy New Year, Draco.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Happy New Year, Harry.”

They stand there holding each other for what feels like hours. And it’s silly, really, that Harry enjoys it so much. Spending time with Draco Malfoy on his best friends’ balcony. It isn’t normal in the slightest, and Harry loves it. And maybe, there will be so many moments of _abnormal_ with Draco that those moments become normal. For Harry. For Draco. And for their friends and family. Until it’s all just normal and feels right, like it’s meant to be. And if that sounds sappy, well, hey. At least he didn’t say that bit out loud.

Finally, when the two of them go inside, it’s to find that everyone bar Harry’s close friend group have left. Nobody seems even remotely surprised at their joined hands; Ron hands over 10 galleons to Hermione; Neville and Hannah, the nice people that they are, just smile; George winks at Harry and proceeds to get elbowed by Bill; Fleur, Angelina and Ginny are talking in a corner and barely acknowledge them; and Luna takes one look at them both and says;

“There must’ve been something in the air on the balcony. Both your swarms of wrackspurts have disappeared.”

Harry begins to think that maybe Luna’s fresh air advice wasn’t all too innocent.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Happy New Year from Draco and Harry! Let’s hope 2021 will be a better one.
> 
> Lots of love <3
> 
> (@balletquartet on twitter/tumblr)


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